Tag Archives: apple pie

With Mother’s Day just around the corner you may not realize that some of us dread shopping for the perfect Mother’s Day card. It’s not that we don’t love or at least respect our mothers; we do, but not in the Hallmark tradition.

My friend Greg once confided in me the difficulty of finding an appropriate card. His mother was an abusive alcoholic when he was growing up so the “mother and apple pie” relationship never blossomed. She has been off the bottle for twenty or more years but she remains, what he calls, a “dry drunk.” She constantly demands his attention yet she is quick to criticize him at every turn. She wields the sword of guilt if she thinks he doesn’t visit often enough, despite the hazards of a six-hour plus mountainous journey to her home.

Naturally he finds it difficult to relate to her with any genuine sentiment, despite his obligatory feelings as the eldest son and a responsible adult. Buying a suitable card is nearly impossible yet he wouldn’t dare risk not sending one.

Each year I find myself agonizing in front of the department store Mother’s Day Card displays, searching in vain for that perfect card that conveys my appreciation but without the over-the-top mush and gush. Statements like, “you’re my best friend” or “you were always there for me” simply don’t apply.

That’s not to say we are lacking respect for our mothers. We’re cognizant of the importance of having been given life. We realize they made sacrifices and they managed to raise us in some fashion despite the challenges they had in their lives. We don’t necessarily blame them for the way things happened.

Greg and I are not alone. Several of my friends’ mothers have lied, cheated, and stolen from them and committed other un-motherly acts towards them and some still do. Some mothers insist on repeating the same awful sins their mothers imposed on them.

One friend’s mother ran off with another man when she was twelve years old. She basically raised herself from that moment as her devastated father was emasculated. Mother and daughter have managed to heal their relationship in the past decade, after a decade of estrangement, and they are still working through it. Obviously, a card that declares “you were always there for me” is totally inappropriate.

Another friend and her mother and siblings endured substantial physical abuse from her father for thirty years. Almost two decades after the abuse stopped her mother pretends it never happened; “father was a saint”, she declares. The rewriting of this tragic history trivializes the trauma her children endured. You can understand the near impossibility of finding a suitable card among the flowery, “I could always count on you in times of trouble” and “Mother, you mean the world to me”.

For those of us whose maternal relationships could be called strained at best, we need cards that wish them a good day, because we can say that with sincerity, but they must not include “everything you mean to me”, “you are my best”, and “I couldn’t have done it with out you” sentiments.

Perhaps we need some cards like these:

“You really messed up my childhood and consequently my adulthood but you’re still my mother and I honour that”.

“If you hadn’t been blotto throughout my childhood I could buy you a mushy card”.

How about, “Times have changed. Thank God nobody HAS to get married anymore.”

Or “Too bad you didn’t consider adoption instead of the shotgun wedding; we could both have had happy lives.”

“I’ve come to accept your lack of mothering skills and chosen to be a better mother myself.”

Where are the cards that say, “It would have been nice if you had made me a Halloween costume or come to one parent-teacher interview”?

The simple, “Sorry I ruined your life”.

This one could be popular: “I wouldn’t have worked so hard to be born if I had known you would remind me how you had to endure 36 hours of labour every damned day of my sorry life”.

“Too bad you got short-changed on the oxytocin” (mother-love hormone). Or maybe, “Instead of a day at the spa your gift is a shot of oxytocin.”

“I take full responsibility for all those stretch marks and your saggy breasts since you blame me for them anyway”.

How about, “Thanks for all the times you sent me to bed without supper; otherwise I would be fat”.

Then there’s, “I wish _____ was my mother; I suspect you do too”.

The ever popular, “Let’s face it; not everyone is cut out to be a mother.”

Even for those who weren’t traumatized, a basic “have a good day because I can wish that for strangers and even my enemies, however grudgingly.”

Sorry, I’ve gotten a little carried away. I found some morbid satisfaction in expressing these ugly truths on behalf of children everywhere with less-than-ideal mothers.

I am a grown-up and like many adults I have risen above the shortcomings of my parents. I understand their paths weren’t at all what they had dreamed they would be. I, long ago, forgave my parents and told myself they did they best they knew how; I truly believe they did.

I sincerely doubt there are many parents who purposely ruin their children. I made some stupid mistakes myself when I raised my own.

Let’s just have some cards that reflect the reality that every mother-child relationship isn’t necessarily something to celebrate. That doesn’t mean it can’t be acknowledged as nicely and vaguely as possible.

I am blessed to have had three mothers. My first mother, of course, gave birth to me. My grandmother assisted in my rearing; I consider her my second mom.

Then there is my ‘finishing” mom.

I call her that because she finished the job of raising me. You see, I was 17 when I married her son and like most 17-year-olds, I thought I was pretty smart. In reality, I knew nothing.

Through her open heart, smiling face, undying service and unconditional love, she gave me many tools that have shaped my life.

We bury her today. This is my tribute to Mildred Olsen.

My grandma met Mildred through work. They became fast friends. Grandma started attending the church down the street and found the Olsens attended there.

That’s where I first met my third mom. I remember her incessant smile. I also remember sitting behind her and seeing her rearrange the sausage curl at the end of her hair.

I was 14 and had an immediate crush on her son. Three years later I became her daughter-in-law and she became my mother-in-law, a title she hated because of the negativity surrounding mothers-in-law and the ensuing jokes. She worked hard to dispel the stereotype and she achieved that.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She always treated me as though I were one of her children. My Christmas and birthday gifts were as generous my sisters-in-law’s gifts. She both praised and scolded me (gently) as if she were my own parent. I never resented it. In fact, I loved the feeling of family she instilled in me.

I imagine she was taken aback by my ignorance of keeping a home. As the oldest in my family, I was expected to labour outside on the farm. The extent of my kitchen skills were peeling potatoes, setting the table and washing dishes.

She taught me how to cook. Not so much taught, but allowed me to observe and ask questions. I often helped her do her Christmas baking. I learned how important food presentation is. The tomatoes weren’t simply sliced, but neatly arranged on the plate. I still serve tomatoes this way.

Her apple pie was legendary. In fact, Pastor DeMaere told me she made the best apple pie he ever ate and he had been served thousands of slices of apple pie over the years. A roast beef dinner evokes sweet memories of her Sunday dinners.

Not only did I learn how to cook in her kitchen I learned hospitality. Mildred loved nothing more than having company. Out would come the coffee and squares or cakes. Her reward for serving her guests was their company. That suited me well. I am thankful I learned hostess etiquette at her side.

In her kitchen I also learned how to clean. Her kitchen gleamed. Everything was wiped down daily and because of that regularity it was easy to keep it up. I will never claim to be as meticulous as she was but I learned how nice it feels to work in a clean kitchen.

Her message was consistent: whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability. Go the extra mile. Make it look beautiful just because.

I used to marvel at her energy. She was the first one up and the last to bed, always working, always doing, usually for others.

When my babies came, she taught me how to care for them. She was their second mom and I always felt comfortable leaving my children in her care. I knew she loved them at least as much as I did. I am forever grateful that my children got to have all those comfortable memories of time spent at Grandma’s.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She was our moral barometer. When the girls were teens and trying out racy language, they would claim it wasn’t so bad. “Would you say it front of Grandma?” They would hang their heads, “No.” Settled. If we were ashamed to do it in front of Grandma it was likely shameful.

She and I used to talk for hours on the phone or play games Sunday afternoons when the men were napping off their big meal. Those conversations shaped my thinking. Mildred also influenced me by sharing her self-help library. To this day my reading includes self-help books, which most people find boring.

Mildred had class, quiet dignity. She genuinely cared about people. She was happy in her roles of wife, mother, grandmother and homemaker.

Luckily, I see Mildred in my girls. R____ has her darker skin and hair and voluptuous figure. She reveals her pain through her eyes, just like her grandma. She is also meticulous in everything she does. H____ shares her openness, loving spirit and her innate sense of morality. She thrives on company too. My girls both appreciate having known this wonderful woman and they acknowledge her profound influence in their lives.

As I compile this, the memories of her love flood my mind and it’s hard to choose which should be included. The most indelible one is this:

My grandma and Mildred were neighbours and friends for decades and forever connected through their descendents. In the last years they were in the same seniors lodge for a time.

My grandma began to deteriorate. At one point she was unable to walk to the dining room for lunch. The lodge wasn’t exactly accommodating.

One day my sister arrived at the lodge in time to see this: Grandma was perched on the seat of Mildred’s walker. Mildred, bad heart and bad hip notwithstanding, was pushing Grandma slowly towards the dining room.

This image of my finishing mom supporting my second mom, regardless of the hardship it might cause her, is the statement of how Mildred lived her life. It is how I will forever remember her.

In service to others in her own quiet way. With a smile and great love.

“There is no greater love than to give one’s life for a friend.”

Thank you, Mildred, for finishing me, for being my grandma’s longest friend and for helping me raise my daughters. I could not have walked this way without you.